


too drunk to dream

by fungoidz



Series: richie tozier viagra indulgence [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Dreams, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Short and bad, Slurs, eddie isnt exactly in this, funny but then i slip into le angst mode, ive been obsessed with these two for thepast like. 5 days, no actual sex just vague descriptions of masturbation, richie tozier has erectile dysfunction and im not afraid to say it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 20:04:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20729990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fungoidz/pseuds/fungoidz
Summary: Richie's been having those dreams again.





	too drunk to dream

It’s the eighth time this month Richie’s had a dream like this, and it has to stop happening.

He’s thirty nine, way too old to be having dreams like this (honestly, it's kind of a miracle he wakes up hard at all anymore) but that isn’t the main issue. He’d be fine with it if he were having dreams about, like, Cher, but he isn’t. It’s like some sort of internal clock just went off again and his brain is telling him “okay, you’re basically middle aged now, time to finally accept you’re a queer,” which is maybe a valid point, but he really thought he had better taste.

It’s the same guy every time. Not anyone he knows, which is a small comfort. It was the same guy last year, and the same guy when he was twenty five. It’s pretty fucking disorienting to wake up with an aching boner because you dreamt about some dude in a salmon colored polo telling you he fucked your mom. They don’t even fuck in it, which makes it worse. It’s just the two of them, lying together in some hazy half-remembered little room, probably somewhere from his childhood because god knows Richie’s got some sort of long term memory loss or repressed trauma when it comes to anything between the ages of seven and seventeen. Must’ve huffed too much airplane glue back in the eighties.  


They talk, but he can’t remember most of it by the time he’s woken up. If he tries hard enough he can hold the other man’s face in his mind. He’s aged over the years, like his weird pseudo-sexual fantasies are adapting as time goes on, but some features are the same, and he’s clear enough in Richie’s mind that there’s no way he could’ve made him up. Where has he seen him before? The eyes are familiar, the shape of his nose, but he can’t for the life of him recall. Not anywhere on TV, not at any of his shows. He could just be somebody Richie saw on a street, or a convenience store clerk at the 7/11 he went to a bunch back when he lived in San Diego. He doesn’t know this soccer dad looking motherfucker from Adam.

Can’t they at least fuck? He deserves a dream handjob after all this time. But no, they just lie there and talk, joke around with one another, and yeah, mystery dream man is funnier than he looks (at least from what Richie can remember) but it’s not boner-worthy. He has trouble getting hard even when he takes pills to make his dick work, but somehow a guy who looks like the milquetoast father in a 90s sitcom is what cures his erectile dysfunction.

When he goes out in the morning he’s afraid people can smell it on him. He’s just repressed and it’s those years growing up in Bumfuck, Maine talking, he knows that much. Knowing that doesn’t make it any better though. Even here, in Los fucking Angeles, he feels guilty afterwards. Stomach-sick, like he ate bad takeout. It’s not funny even when he tries to make a joke out of it to himself. Who would’ve thought good old Richie Tozier, he of the homophobic jokes, is a faggot himself?  


So he does what he can to not think about it, stop himself from dreaming. Takes ambien, smokes so much he feels sick, eats five of those disgusting bubblegum melatonin gummies he got at Target. It works for a couple of weeks but eventually he’ll get back to a hotel room after a show and be too bone-deep exhausted to do anything but fall in bed, and he’ll be back to that hazy room from somewhere he can’t remember with Mr. Leave It To Beaver. And he’ll wake up hard again, sweating through his shirt, stomach turning and something itching in the back of his brain.  


The sharp edges of the dream fade soon enough, everything muddling together, and if he tries hard enough he can put it out of his mind. He can push it down, lock it up in a dark place inside of him. It’ll stop eventually, like it has before, and he won’t have to reckon with what it all means. Everything can go back to normal, he can go back to making jokes about fucking a girl during her period or how he shit his pants when he was twenty three after he drank a whole bottle of Baileys, or how his dad caught him jerking off to a National Geographic magazine once, and he’ll be happy with that. 

He’ll definitely be happy with that.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in like 2 hours and it's entirely unbeta'd so i know it's not good but. It Be Like That. comments are always super appreciated especially criticism!


End file.
